


need against need (against need)

by thisisgonnahurt



Category: Justified
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fingerfucking, M/M, Mention of past relationship, hint of dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisgonnahurt/pseuds/thisisgonnahurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan ends up at Boyd's bar late one summer evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	need against need (against need)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to try my hand at Justified fic for a while now. This was written to theoretically take place sometime after this last episode (4x03), but is spoiler-free for this season. Also implies a past relationship between Boyd and Raylan. Lastly, there's a possible taste of dub-con in here if you squint. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Raylan would be lying if he said he didn’t expect to see Boyd at the bar, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t struck by a peculiar wave of heat upon actually seeing the man. He had debated just going back to his room and breaking into a new bottle of bourbon, but something about the full moon and that strange Harlan atmosphere had pushed him instead to Boyd and Ava’s bar, checking to make sure his gun was fully loaded before getting out of his car.

He didn’t realise until entering the bar that it was technically after hours, and he’s busy wondering why the door was unlocked when he sees Boyd. He’s leaning against the bar, narrow hip cocked and eyes at half-mast, a cell phone pressed thoughtfully to his lips. He looks as if he hadn’t slept in days.

It’s a view that is quickly terminated by the creak of Raylan’s boots on the floor. Boyd’s head snaps up and his eyes become alert, lips slightly parted before he thins them into a smile and pushes himself off the bar. 

“Well, if it isn’t Raylan Givens.” It’s a standard greeting from Boyd; the delicate way Raylan’s name rolls from his tongue is a well-known sound. It’s not the first time Raylan has felt warmth spike through his veins at Boyd’s voice, but it’s no less strong. He takes a step forward.

“Where’s your crew?” Raylan asks, sticking his hands in his pockets. Boyd is standing up straight now, slipping his cell phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “I can’t imagine they’d leave you alone in these trying times.” His voice is mild, and Boyd makes no attempt to hide the sweep of his gaze towards Raylan’s mouth. 

“Ava is settling some accounts with the girls and Johnny is...snake-hunting. I figured I’d clean up the bar.” His voice is as casual as Raylan’s and he lets his fingers trail across a table as he walks forward. “May I ask you a question now, Raylan?”

“If you must.” Raylan steps around Boyd and goes for the bar, grabbing two shotglasses and a bottle of Jameson.

“Is it a whiskey sort of night, Raylan? And you are, of course, aware that I just cleaned those glasses?”

“Two questions there, Boyd.”

“You could ask me another, even it out.” There’s amusement in Boyd’s voice, genuine amusement and Raylan pretends he doesn’t hear it because his life is complicated enough as it is. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I just say it’s official marshal business and thus I cannot discuss it with civilians?” Raylan knocks back a shot and pours one for Boyd, gesturing impatiently. 

Boyd comes to the bar and takes the glass, eyeing it with a small quirk in his lips. “Is it official marshal business to get me drunk, Raylan?” 

Raylan shrugs noncommittally. He watches Boyd take the shot, focuses on his throat as he swallows. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m off duty.” He wants to believe that; never mind the fact that a man of the law was never off duty, would be on call in one way or another until he died. 

Raylan pours himself another shot and Boyd wordlessly holds out his own glass. It’s their teenage years all over again and Raylan wants to laugh. He can see his life stretching before him, a kid with a woman who doesn’t love him anymore and a job that will likely kill him and _very_ likely kill him in the same godforsaken town he had spent his life trying to leave. He’s in his 40s, but leaning against the bar with Boyd, he feels like he’s 18.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind tonight, Raylan?” Boyd asks, raising an eyebrow as Raylan downs the second shot and prepares a third. Boyd takes his own shot, and when he sets the glass down his lips are glistening. Raylan knows he’s staring but he can remember all too clearly where this situation would have ended if he truly were 18. 

He has an image in his brain, an idea of how lovely Boyd would look pressed back against the bar, bent backwards until he was gasping into Raylan’s mouth. It’s too much. 

“‘In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life’,” Raylan murmurs, taking off his hat. He straightens up from the bar and takes the third shot, the alcohol burning through his throat. 

Boyd tilts his head up, still leaning against the counter. “‘It goes on.’” His voice quavers just slightly.

He barely has time to finish his shot before Raylan’s mouth is on him.

Raylan crowds him up against the counter, one hand on the back of Boyd’s neck and the other tugging at his belt, pulling them flush together. Boyd is kissing him back with equal intensity, one ridiculously thin thigh parted and a burning heat pressed against Raylan’s groin.

Calling upon a memory from their teenage years, Raylan threads his hands in Boyd’s hair and pulls. Boyd’s response is to hiss against Raylan’s teeth and slide his palms down Raylan’s back, settling them in his back pockets. Raylan pulls harder and Boyd retreats from the kiss, taking a moment to resist and look into Raylan’s eyes. Raylan can’t read the expression on Boyd’s face, but it’s gone a second later as Boyd acquiesces and tilts his head back, the tanned expanse of his throat nearly taking Raylan’s breath away. 

“The things I want to do to you, Boyd Crowder.” Raylan’s voice is a rough whisper against the skin of Boyd’s neck. He bites, hard; rolls his hips slowly until Boyd’s clutching at Raylan’s shoulders, his breath coming out in a shuddering laugh.

“Promises, promises, Raylan.” Boyd says teasingly. His hands become firm on Raylan, pushing him back. “But if it is alright with you, I would prefer we talk for a minute.”

Raylan’s fingers are wrapped around Boyd’s wrists before he registers that he made the movement, restraining them. He keeps Boyd pressed against the bar, the anger that never really leaves him beginning to come to the surface. “What is there to talk about, Boyd?”

Boyd is looking at him calmly, but Raylan knows him too well. He can feel the slight trembling in Boyd’s hands. They both know that Raylan could hold him down. Boyd’s a wiry fucker, and it wouldn’t be easy, but it would happen.

“Well Raylan, there’s Ava.” Boyd’s hands are starting to relax. “And unless I am mistaken, you also have an...attachment with your lovely bartender?” Raylan wants to make him scream. “Or how about the simple fact that we are on opposite sides of the law?” There’s a slight note of condescension in his voice, but Raylan doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy manhandling Boyd over to the wall.

Boyd’s back hits the hard wood with a painful sound, and his sharp gasp is lost in Raylan’s lips. He’s panting by the time Raylan moves on to his neck. “Raylan, I really must ask that we stop for a moment.”

“Just ‘cause this is your bar don’t mean you get to make the orders, Boyd,” Raylan responds, licking the bite mark he made earlier. “You don’t get to call the shots tonight.” Raylan feels anger flare inside him as he voices the words, and he thinks he knows why he ended up at Boyd’s bar this summer evening. Less to do with the moon and atmosphere, perhaps, and more to do with an uncontrollable wildfire in his soul, rage and frustration leading him to the one person in Harlan on whom he could unleash them. 

Winona had said once that he was the angriest man she knew. Now, holding Boyd trapped against the wall, he believes her.

“Raylan, you need my help. I’m willing to help you. I just want to make sure this is something that won’t blow up in our faces later.” Boyd’s face is inexpressably earnest and Raylan hates him for it. “Please.”

Raylan sighs and releases Boyd’s wrists. He’s pretty sure he’s pressed bruises into them and the thought gives him an animalistic chill. “You really know how to kill the mood, Boyd.” 

Boyd rubs at his wrists surreptitiously. “Ain’t nothing killing this mood, son.” His voice is low and seems to come straight from his chest and Raylan really can’t deny that he goes a bit weak in the knees. “Just wanted to ask what exactly you plan on doing after this...business is concluded.” 

“Go home, get even more drunk, and pass out?” Raylan suggests. His hand has wandered to Boyd’s hip, unable to help himself from touching after so long. He presses his thumb into the bone. “Then tomorrow, go right back to working on ridding Harlan of crime.” 

He says it sardonically and Boyd laughs. “A decent goal.” 

Raylan smiles and leans in, other hand coming up to brace himself against the wall next to Boyd’s head. “Is that a satisfactory answer?”

Boyd pauses. Raylan is already thinking about the look on Boyd’s face as he comes. “I wouldn’t call you an A student, Raylan, but I will accept your answer.” Boyd raises his hands and grasps Raylan’s lapels. “Shall we continue?”

He doesn’t need to ask again. Raylan kisses him once, twice, the third just a peck as he moves his interest to the spread of skin revealed by the undone top buttons of Boyd’s collar. Raylan’s fingers are clumsy with alcohol and he sticks to that as his mumbled excuse when he rips open Boyd’s shirt and Boyd sighs in annoyance. 

“I did like that shirt, Raylan,” he starts, but then Raylan’s hand is clapped over his mouth and Raylan’s teeth are on his collarbone and Raylan’s ego perks a little as the reprimand is dissolved into a moan. 

The soft sounds of gentle Harlan summer rain have started outside, but all Raylan hears is Boyd’s laboured breaths as he digs his nails into Raylan’s back hard enough to hurt. Raylan bites his nipple in response and yanks his zipper down, lifting out Boyd’s dick. 

“Fuck, Raylan,” Boyd whispers harshly, breath catching in his throat. Raylan wraps his hand around Boyd’s thigh and lifts, slowly stroking Boyd with his other hand. The drag of dry skin against dry skin draws pained noises from Boyd and Raylan takes pity on him, removing his hand and spitting liberally before wrapping his fingers around Boyd’s cock. It’s filthy, sweat gleaming on both their foreheads and the wet sounds of Raylan’s hand echoing in the quiet bar. Boyd sounds much the same as he did when he was a teenager, voice a little deeper and face a little more lined. In many ways he’s hardened with age, but Raylan thinks that if he had time, he could find many ways Boyd has softened as well. 

And _those_ are the dangerous thoughts, those are the thoughts Raylan told himself he wouldn’t have tonight. This is not about the shadow of Boyd’s eyelashes on his cheek or the way he’s saying Raylan’s name like it’s the most important thing in the world. This is about release, about him needing help and Boyd being the only person who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t pry too deep or ask too many questions. 

“I’m getting close, Raylan,” Boyd chokes out, and Raylan realises he’d sped up his hand. He squeezes Boyd’s cock and slows again, grinning as Boyd curses, head falling back against the wall. 

“Remember when I said you weren’t calling the shots tonight, Boyd?” He takes his hand off altogether and moves it to his own jeans, unzipping them slowly. Boyd’s gaze is heated and Raylan feels his dick twitch. “You sucked any dick since we were teenagers?”

“Perhaps.” Raylan puts one hand on Boyd’s head. He exerts no pressure. “Still never saw one quite as nice as yours.”

Boyd has a way of complimenting him that doesn’t read as complimentary; he says it factually and calmly as if he’s merely stating the colour of the sky. It’s something Raylan has encountered numerous times, but as with everything else about Boyd this evening, it manifests itself as a curling heat low in Raylan’s belly. 

He puts just the tiniest bit of force into his hand, and Boyd sinks down in one fluid movement. They are no longer young, but Boyd had never lost his strange sense of youthful grace, and his wiry body is taut as a bowstring as he kneels in front of Raylan. In an involuntary movement, Raylan strokes his thumb against Boyd’s scalp, and Boyd looks up at him. For the second time that night, his expression is unreadable as he leans in, breath ghosting over Raylan’s cock.

Raylan grips Boyd’s hair harder and gasps as Boyd takes the head of his dick into his mouth. Boyd had always been suspiciously good at blowjobs and it appears age has only made him better. He moans around Raylan’s cock, his voice and the vibrations nearly short-circuiting Raylan’s brain. 

“Yeah, Boyd,” Raylan hisses, feeling his orgasm building through the dizzy burn of the alcohol. He’s never been a talker in bed, always prefers to let his hands and mouth do it all for him, but Boyd makes him do a lot of things he would never have expected. “That’s it, that’s good.” Boyd rolls his balls in one hand and Raylan is having trouble breathing.

It’s been too long since he and Boyd had done this, and he knows he isn’t going to last. If Boyd were anyone else, Raylan would warn that he was close. But he’s Boyd, and he can take all the things that Raylan can’t give to anyone else, so instead Raylan just slams his hand against the wall in front of him and yells Boyd’s name as he comes. Boyd chokes briefly but swallows it all, and his eyes gleam when he looks up at Raylan. 

“Haven’t done that in a while,” Boyd says casually, after he gets his breath back. He’s still kneeling. Raylan drops to his own knees beside him. “Few years, at least.”

“Anyone I know?” Raylan wouldn’t normally consider himself a jealous man, but Boyd is the exception to many of his rules and so he hears jealousy in the question. Boyd does too, because he smirks and leans back on his elbows, spreading his legs. Raylan takes the invitation to crawl into that space, covering Boyd’s body and lips with his own. Boyd grins into his mouth. 

“I don’t suck dick and tell, Raylan,” Boyd murmurs, biting back a gasp as Raylan’s hand palms his cock. “But I will say that he fucked me like I ain’t been fucked in _years_.”

The line has the desired effect, as Raylan narrows his eyes slightly and pushes Boyd back on the floor. Boyd goes willingly, eyes fluttering as Raylan grabs his hips and jerks him up. Boyd’s legs go around Raylan’s back and Raylan leans down.

The kiss he brushes against Boyd’s lips isn’t quite tender, but it lingers. Just enough for Boyd to sigh softly, body going pliant. Raylan wants to fuck into him, to rut against him like an animal. But he won’t be ready again for a while, and Raylan knows Boyd doesn’t like being fingered unless he’s had a shower beforehand. It’s one of many pecularities, things Raylan had thought – or hoped – that he had forgotten about Boyd. 

He contemplates doing it anyway. He lets his tongue dance over the head of Boyd’s cock and contemplates the image of Boyd glistening with sweat, arched on the ground as Raylan fucks him mercilessly with his fingers.

Boyd’s eyes are closed and his breath is coming in aborted gasps. Raylan lifts his head from Boyd’s dick and wraps one hand around it, the other wandering back to clutch Boyd’s ass. With the leverage Raylan has on him, Boyd is in no position to escape. He has a way of surrendering himself in these situations with Raylan, a trust borne through the years from teenagers to even now, and it weighs almost painfully on Raylan’s heart. 

He shakes away those thoughts and focuses instead on Boyd’s thighs quivering against him.

“You still like to get clean before you get fucked, boy?” The last part comes out without his permission, Harlan accent and speech patterns thickened by arousal. Boyd’s eyes practically roll back in his head. “‘Cause right now, I’m gonna need a real good argument from you as to why I shouldn’t continue this.” 

Boyd thrusts his hips up, seeking friction that Raylan refuses to give him. “Would me simply saying ‘no’ be a good enough argument, Raylan?” He sounds like he’s pleading, though for what Raylan doesn’t know. “Would you stop if I said ‘Raylan, please, don’t’?” He lifts his hands from Raylan’s shoulders, laying them down above his head on the ground. 

“What do you think?” Raylan’s voice is low.

Boyd closes his eyes. A small smile touches his lips. His voice is lower than Raylan’s when he says, “I don’t think you would.” He arches into Raylan’s touch. “But then again, I am in no position to fight you, now am I?” His gaze wanders to Raylan’s gun. 

“No, Boyd,” Raylan manages, the heat of the situation practically overpowering him, “no, you’re really not.”

That’s how Boyd finds himself on his stomach, gasping profanities into the rough wood of the floor and cock dripping through Raylan’s fist as Raylan fucks him relentlessly, three fingers curling against his prostate on each thrust. He’s jerking Boyd’s cock slowly, swiping his thumb over the head. Boyd can feel the tears forming in his eyes. Raylan doesn’t get off on begging, but Boyd grits out a “Raylan, _please_ ,” anyway because he just needs it a little harder, a little rougher, and Raylan complies almost immediately. 

Boyd isn’t a screamer, and Raylan wouldn’t have it any other way, because the small intake of breath and hitched moan Boyd makes when he comes is perfect. He strokes Boyd through it, heart quickening as Boyd’s back shudders against his chest. He slips his fingers out, discreetly wiping them on the sheets, and presses a quick kiss to Boyd’s scapula, a rough scrape of lips against sweat-slick skin. 

Boyd’s thighs are shaking as he turns himself over, facing Raylan. His skin is flushed, eyes bright and hair wilder than usual. He’s still breathing hard, but he’s smiling. 

Raylan accepts the kiss that Boyd leans forward to give him because he’s too exhausted to remind himself why he shouldn’t. 

The rain has ceased. Boyd stops kissing Raylan and pulls back, tilting his head. 

“It’ll be morning soon,” he says quietly. Raylan reaches out, sliding his fingers across the bullet scar in Boyd’s chest. Boyd shivers. “Ava will be back. Johnny too.”

Raylan nods, unable to meet Boyd’s eyes. He stands up, grabbing at his jeans. Boyd stands more slowly, wincing. With only spit as lube, Raylan knows Boyd will be feeling the effects of this night later.

“Boyd,” Raylan starts, turning around. He pauses, trying to find the words that a moment ago had seemed so clear in his head. Boyd is looking at him inscrutably for the third time that night. Raylan closes his mouth, forcing a smile. 

“I’ll see you around, Boyd.”

It’s not the way either of them want it to end, but Raylan can’t think of what else to say, what else to do. Boyd has always been an area of his life that he has trouble puzzling out, and his words have failed him completely. He turns towards the door and pretends he doesn’t feel the heat of Boyd’s eyes on his back.

“See you around, Raylan.” Boyd’s voice is almost a whisper. 

The rain has started up again by the time Raylan reaches his car.


End file.
